The Warriors: Jailbreak
by Tsalagi Khan
Summary: The Warriors: Jailbreak issued by the Dabel Brothers. Ajax is in jail, enemies on all sides for him and the Warriors back in Coney. An all out war between gangs and cops will take place. Will the Warriors save Ajax in time or will he die in the system?
1. First Impressions

**Disclaimer: The Warriors and everything that was created in the story entirely belongs to Walter Hill. I do not own the Warriors, but however, I do own the continuation of this story, deriving from the events that happened in the comic book The Warriors: Jailbreak by the Dabel Brothers.**

This is my first story on this site. I loved what the Dabel Brothers did with the Warriors story after the movie/book, so since they didn't come out with the rest of the comics, I thought I might as well take advantage of it, and have my own perspective on what happens after the events in issue 1. Please leave a review. Criticism is advised. It makes better encouragement to keep going.

Note: The jail is totally fictional. It's something that I made up since it was never said what jail Ajax might be in. And as the name suggest, I think it'll be awfully hard to break someone out of Rikers Island, so this is my own jail. "HILLSIDE" is not deriving from Hillside, Queens but the man who created the Warriors. Walter Hill.

The meeting was in July 12, 1979, 1:27a.m.

**Hillside Correctional facility , New York City.**  
_Months after the meeting... November 1, 1979. 9:30p.m. _

**Chapter 1: First impressions.**

_**KRAK! THUMP!**_ The bad-mouthing Baseball Fury took a slug to the chin by the caged animal, Ajax, toughest lieutenant of the Warriors, a new heavy gang in West Coney. Two guards had helped the Fury get up to his feet while the other guard walked over to Ajax with a scornful face. "What's your problem sh*thead! You lookin' for trouble?" The officer said in a threatening voice.

"No problem sir, I'm just doin' my time," Ajax wore a smug grin, almost as if he was mocking the confronting officer.[/color] "Get your ass back in the seat, punk!" The guard ordered. One could tell he was itching to knock the Warrior lights out, but decided best not to, in order to keep his job. Ajax complied and gave a scoff at Fury that they rushed out of the cafeteria,"_F*ckin whimp,_" Ajax shook his head. He turned back to his seat with the other inmates and continued eating his food like nothing just happened.

One of of the inmates that had his eyes on Ajax had sat back in his seat, and admired the strength of the Caucasian brother that just knocked the Fury lights out. The inmate was sporting a well-shaved head, and wore a tight black-t shirt under his prison 'colors.' "You checkin' that brotha' out, Mohammad?" A inmate that was seated next to him asked. He sported short braids that stopped at the nape of his neck, and had a young face, but was older than what he seemed to be.

Mohammad took a sip at his chocolate milk, crumbled it up as if it were paper and toss it in back of him. It hit the basket successfully, but Mohammad didn't look back to see if he scored or not. "Yeah, that's him."

"Why are you looking at him?" Braids looked on the other side of the room looking at the man that had caught Mohammad eyes. He didn't look like much. Just an ordinary street punk that was probably running with a little league street gang. "He look's like a walking trailer trash brush with muscles," Braids mused.

That caught Mohammad attention. He gave a smile and shook his head at the younger man, "You don't understand, do you? That trailer trash is one of the Warrior's." Mohammad stated but seen that his pupil didn't catch on, "_You_ killed their leader a few months ago, _you_ were the one that sent that first kick," Mohammad said in a whisper. Warriors, Warriors, Braids said to himself. But still, Braids didn't know what was special about him until that's when it hit his head. "Crap, the _Warriors_? Those the same mutha'brotha's that killed our leader, _Cyrus_? ain't it" Braids said alarmed. He looked over from his leader and gave the Warrior's back a deadly stare.

Mohammad looked at his protegee and shook his head, he placed a firm hand on Braids shoulder, "Calm down, Adam. That's not the enemy. It was made clear already that Masai brought a war party with him to Coney. They met up with the Warriors, and the group that really killed our leader. Rouges. Some reckless mutha'dudes from Hells Kitchen. They got wrecked by ours, and we let the Warriors go. We're allies now. But that Warrior over there have some moves. I never seen that dude or the Warriors but they did survive the Fury's, and the way that Warrior cracked that brother's jaw," Mohammad laughed in amusement,"-They're _heavy_ alright."

Adam listened closely to the story. "Oh, alright then, Warchief. Whatever you say, but still-" He felt a strict eye on his shoulder and he looked slowly his Warchief's way and sighed, he knew he couldn't win against Mohammad knowledge. "-Ugh, nothing, Mo, nothing." He loosened up but still had a clenched jaw. It was cool that the Warriors knocked mad heads back all the way to Brooklyn's ass end, but that still didn't mean squat. Judging by that 'tough' Warrior's attitude, he sure as hell makes a great example of what the Warriors were all about. Knuckle-heads with no discipline. But, oh, they will soon learn.

A guard came through the twin doors, he was white and his uniform was far different from the ordinary guards. Apparently, he was the upper command, the Captain. His identification I.D. read, Cpt. Makov. He was a husky fellow with a white beard. He was tall though. But he earned an reputation for breaking inmates and his own guards in half for disobedience. He didn't tolerate it. He was fat with a mean punch.

He looked over at the guards who stopped what they were doing and stood erect, saluting their captain as if they were in the military. He nodded his head, and patted his palm with the nightstick, showing the punks in the cafeteria.[/color] "Alright, ladies! Get up! Lunch time is over!" Cpt. Makov commanded. The gang-members grumbled, and slowly got up out of there seats. They dumped their empty trays in the garbage's, and filed in a single line, like if they were in pre-school, and left out of the lunchroom. Only a couple of the inmates stayed and that didn't suit well in Cpt. Makov's book.

There was a table that was at the far end of the cafeteria, on the twin door side, so the occupants that sat there were the first to receive the mouth from their 'lovable' Cpt. Makov.[/color] "Well, well, well. Lookie here. A Riff raft, that's not obeying. Mohammad, take you and the rest of these cotton heads out of my lunchroom and take your asses back to your cells."

Mohammad looked in Cpt. Makov's eyes, giving him a grim stare. The captain gave him the same stare and grumbled lowly angrily. "No one is paying your fat ass any mind, captain. Go on with that somewhere." Mohammad said calmly. He was picked up by his black collar T and thrown against the wall. Adam was about to something regretfully, but luckily for him and his Warchief, a guard jogged towards Adam with his nightstick out, ready to beat down the young man. "Don't try it, son."

"Heh, now lookie here, Riff. You're not so big and bad. Actually, ain't your leader get shot down a few months back at that little big meeting? Some big Cyrus, taken down like a virus," Cpt. Makov sang. A hand was sat firmly on Makov arm. Makov looked at the hand and see who's was it before they lose that hand.

"There's no need for violence, Makov. No need to insult our leader either, because from what I understand, you're a ex _Satan's Mother_. Makov was shocked by the last two words. He was about to say something but was cut off[/color], "Don't worry, we won't say nothing. But we're going to need you to stop with that racism your rubbing off on _my peeps_, _ya dig_? Unless you want to lose your job, ya dig!" The African-American said with emphasis.

Makov let Mohammad go and made sure had ha photograph memory of the black that threatened his job. The African-American man was a Riff too. Or was a Riff until he found Allah. He's been trying to get Mohammad and Adam to follow but they were to devoted to their gang to go into religion. He had battle-hardened face, with reading glasses on. He might of look like a soldier but he was actually smarter than that. His name was, Xeem. Pronounced with a "Z". So it sounds like Zeem. "Alright, I'll play your game, son. Ye' better watch ye back. Now get the hell outta here, ya here?" Cpt. Makov said in a deep southern drawl. He left the three Riffs and spotted Ajax who was still eating without no care.

Ajax stuffed the beef in his mouth, licking his lips and wiped it off with the back of his fist. A shadow came over him, so he'd reluctantly looked to see who it was. It was Cpt. Makov. "Do you mind, pig! I'm eating quietly." Ajax said in a rude tone and noticed his food was actually gone. He shrugged, and started drinking his apple juice. "Oh, we got a smart one here," Cpt. Makov gave Ajax a hard stare. "Do you know who you're talking to, punk?"

A annoyed Ajax jerked from the table and got up in the captains face.[/color] "Do _I_ know who I'm talking? Sure, princess. I do. But do I care? No the f*ck' I don't." Ajax got closer to his face, his face nearly shadowing in the captain's, "Do you know who I am?" He didn't wait for porkies response, "I'm a f*ckin' **Warrior**, wimp," Ajax said with confidence and gave a blood-thirsty smirk. He had an itch that needed to be scratched. It was because of a damn cop he was in this sh*tzhole, so he had no problems releasing his anger on the outfit that put him away for captain felt intimidated but refused to show it.

"Get him out of my face!" Two guards ran over to Ajax and grabbed him by his arm. Having to deal with a few months in jail, Ajax muscles gotten more buff than they were originally. He wasn't overpowered, but when he flexed a tense muscle, it made the guards hands flinch. He took the second to jerk away from them and strutted past the other guards with no care. Grumbling something unintelligent and brushed past the doors violently. The three Riffs looked at the Warrior that stood up to the captain bravely and feared no regrets. They were impressed, but Adam wasn't so moved.

**Chapter Two is coming soon.  
I hope you all enjoyed it.  
It's kind of a mixture of the gang/movie put together.  
The Riffs and their personality are mines, they're made up in my imagination.  
So are the cops.  
You may think that I'm writing a Riff story, but I'm not, it's them admiring the bravery and courage of the Warriors that were wrongly accused. You'll see why they'll be necessary for later one. Stay tuned and leave reviews!.**


	2. Time's call for a meeting!

_**Coney Island, New York City**_  
_That same night...Astroland, Coney Island. November 1, 1979. 10:00p.m._

"Call a War Council, Rembrandt. We're bustin' Ajax outta jail" Swan said. The other Warriors punched the air with strong tight fist. All conglomerated a loud war cry that can be heard for about three or four blocks long. All but two joined in on the cry.

Rembrandt looked over at Swan, "Swan, do you mean that? I mean, I know you and him didn't see eye-to-eye, but, I know we have to get Ajax outta' there, because well, that Hi-Hat told me that word on the street is that nobody is really lookin' out for the Warriors." Rembrandt felt a little shaky to the thought. Ajax was his buddy and gave him confidence. And that meant a lot coming from a guy like Ajax.

Swan casually turned his eyes over at the worried Warrior, "Don't worry. Ajax is one of ours."-Swan turned his attention to the rest of the Warriors.-"Warriors, go to the hangout. We'll meet up there, okay." The Warlord said calmly.

All the Warriors listened and nodded their heads. They put the chains across their arms, still held the bats in their hands and still carried the bloody broken shanks, sticks, and knives. They're a wild, but strong bunch. The Warriors left the alleys, leaving behind Swan and Rembrandt.

"Rembrandt, gather the other Warriors. Everyone will need to be on this campaign."-Swan started to walk but stopped.-"You already know to bring the messenger bag. We're going to make sure that everyone knows that the Warriors were there," Swan said. He didn't know that those were the same words that Cleon said at the time of going to the meeting, but those words struck into Rembrandt heart. Rembrandt smiled, appreciating Swan and his leadership.

Cleon made a good choice, Rembrandt thought. He waited until Swan was out of plain view before he took another spray can out of his bag and started shaking it. He went down on one knee, and re-marked the spot that the clowns had messed up. After he was done he left alley as well and went on to find the Warriors.

-  
_**Hillside Correctional Facility, New York City **_  
_20 minutes back.. 9:40p.m. _

As soon as Ajax walked into his cell, he was pushed by somebody. He turned around fast, but the cage shut in his face. It was a guard. He slammed the nightstick against the cell. But Ajax didn't flinch, he tried to grab the guard but the guard jumped back. He started breathing hard but when he knew that Ajax was on the insides and he was out, he gained confidence and gave a smart-ass grin.

"Tsk, tsk. You gangs are such animals. That's where you belong. In the cage." The guard walked past his cell and whistled a tune.

Ajax grumbled, "Come back here ya' f*ckin pig, I'll beat the breaks off in you, chump!" Ajax yelled. As a group of men came by, he stopped and looked up at them. "What are you looking at? You want a piece of me?"

"Watch yerself, we don't mean no animosity brother. But I like you handled yourself to that fat f*ck back there. It takes real balls to do that, little man. Respect." Mohammad said.

Ajax scoffed, giving a cocky smile, "You like that huh? That's nothing compared what I can if I can get my hands on one of them cops and puncture a new asshole for them."

Mohammad smiled slightly, "Just be cool. You're a Warrior, right? Did I correctly back there?"

Ajax beamed proudly, "Yeah, I'm a Warrior. I'm the toughest one in my gang," Ajax said a matter-of-factually tone.

"Mhm, right, Warrior. Well look here. This is a prison. This ain't the streets. We're not gangs in here. There's no colors in here, brotha. Just orange threads." Adam intervened.

Ajax gave a scowl at the young man. He didn't like that. His muscles tensed, his teeth barred in his mouth, "What you say! Punk, I don't care if we're in here. My colors may not be on me, but I'm still a Warrior no matter what you or any body say in this place." Ajax made sure he put emphasis in his word, you, and made sure he was looking Adam in the eye when he said it. Adam caught on. "Who do you guys think you are anyway? What set?"

"We're Riffs."

The muscle-head Warrior wasn't moved like most gangs were, "Riffs huh? Real heavy." Ajax said sarcastically. He did not just do it out of respect, but he said it to amp the young Riff fighter up. Apparently it did.

"You have no respect! We're the biggest gang in this city. Backed up by numerous of gangs. Friends high and in low co-"

Ajax waved him off, "Yeah yeah yeah. I heard the stories. That's not impressive. You may be the biggest gang, hah, sure!" Ajax backed away from the bars and sat down on his cot, "But from where I come from. What I'm about? We're the best. The Warriors are the best. Now get outta my face," Ajax laid back down in his cot with his hands in back of his head, and staring up at the ceiling.

When Adam was about to say something, Mohammad place his hand on his shoulder and told him 'no' with a head nod. "Why aren't you assholes in your cages? Get back on. Come on now." Two guards escorted Xeem and Mohammad in two cells down from Ajax. The cell next to Ajax was empty, due to the Baseball Fury going to the prison hospital for injuries. Another guard escorted Adam to a few cages down the hall.

When that was done, Ajax didn't bother to go to sleep, he had to much on his mind, which was rare, to shut his eyes. He started reminiscing about the past. How he and Snow joined the Warriors. The missions they carried on. His time with the Warriors. The beat down Swan gave him when they competed for the title of Warchief. He could kick himself for losing to a man like Swan. But Ajax was to stubborn to accept the fact that Swan could best him anytime. Ajax muttered and finally went to sleep with shameful and angry thoughts clouding his thoughts.

-  
**Coney Island, New York City**  
_Present...Astroland, Coney Island. November 1, 1979. 10:10p.m._

Rembrandt looked around in the amusement park. Searching for any Warriors. It was night time so unfortunately the park was packed with Coney Islanders and tourist. He made his way past tight crowds, and crossed the small gates until he was in the streets. Across the street was Voodoo Motors but from what he can see there was no Warriors, just customers interested in buying the cars.

Rembrandt walked down the block, where a small group of people was looking through the small gaps in the gates. Rembrandt joined them and heard a carnival theme playing inside. Flashing lights in a dark room. Moving bumper cars bumping into each other. Even through the darkness Rembrandt can see two people clad in Warriors vest. He waited until the game was over. Fabel Fascination was live tonight. If only Rembrandt can give it a go, he would give it a go, but he had his duty to fufill. Anxiously, he waited across the street until the soldiers came out.

Three minutes later the game was done. Two of the Warriors came out. Rembrandt recognized them. They became the newest lieutenants over the months after the big meeting down in the Bronx. "Yo, Achilles!" Rembrandt shouted. Achilles was a bopper to the fullest. He was sort of like the new Ajax of the group. He didn't have a smart mouth, but he was tough as nails. He was standing at 5'6, long dirty blond hair that stopped near his shoulder-blades. He had his Warrior vest over his skin. He was a ladies man, so it was only fair for him to show his abs to the ladies wherever he goes.

Achilles and company was walking out the Fabel Fascination, they were laughing about something that wasn't of no importance until Achilles heard his name called. "Did someone just call me, Brix?" Achilles asked dumb-found.

Then there was Brix. He was on his way to being ranked a lieutenant, but some looked at him like he was one so to say. He was a massive man. 6'2, bald-headed, and worked out. He was straight out of a action figure toy box. He was light brown-skinned of native descent.

Brix peered left and right and shrugged; he didn't find anything. "Uh, I guess not. You were hearing things,"

Achilles surveyed the area himself until he found a wavering hand across the street where Charlie Plumbing Store was. It was Rembrandt. "Hey! There's Rembrandt!" Achilles exclaimed.

"Where? I don't se-" He looked into the direction where Achilles pointed. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, "Holy smokes!" Brix and Achilles ran across the street. Brix gave Rembrandt a big bear hug, nearly crushing the little guy in pieces. "Little buddy! What's the dealie-o, bro?" The massive man shouted.

Rembrandt tried to get out the man's grip, but he was way to strong. His lungs felt like they were about to explode. "Nice to see you too, Brix, haha, can you put me down though? Y-y-ou nearly crushin' me!" Brix didn't know his strength. He let him go and patted Rembrandt on the afro. "Sorry about that."

"So what's the big fuss, Remmy?" Achilles asked, putting his hands in his pockets to take out a cigarette. He took a light out of the other pocket. He covered the lighter as he flickered it on, and lit the cigarette to life and put the contents away. He took a long pull and blew the smoke out in the streets.

"War Council." Rembrandt said. Achilles and Brix looked at him. And all playfulness was to the side. There was never a War meeting unless it was very important. When Rembrandt saw that he had their attention fully he continued, "You'll see what's the meeting is about. Go back to the hangout to meet up with Swan and the rest of the Warriors."

"Hey, Rembrandt! What's up, man!" A chubby Warrior greeted. He was coming down the block with a hotdog in his hand. He had on his colors, shirtless, showing off his hairy chest and stomach, with light blue pants and red converses. It was Vermin.

Rembrandt smiled delightfully, seeing his friend. As everyone know, Vermin was a survivor of the big meeting. "Hey, Vermin!" Vermin finished his hotdog and gave daps to Achilles, Brix, and Rembrandt. "What's sup?" Vermin mumbled through the food in his mouth and swallowed. "Ahhh,"

"Nothing much, man. Check it, there's a War Council. There's something big going on. Go back at the H-"

"Woah woah woah, hold on there. Your going to fast. A War Council? What's on man?" Vermin asked.

Rembrandt let out impatiently sigh, he wanted to get this done. As time was slipping by, was another second Ajax life could be in danger. "There's no time to explain, look, just go to the hangout. Everything will be explained there."

"Alright then, man. Let's go." Vermin nodded to the two lieutenants. They started walking but Vermin stopped, "Oh and you can find some of the boys at the Little Buddah rackin' some whacky stuff from there." Rembrandt looked at him weirdly. "Hey, man, go figure." Vermin chuckled and caught up with Achilles and Brix.

Rembrandt started running the opposite direction. He ran across the street, going in between two buildings and hoped over a fence. He ran left, bumping up against a few people as he went by. "Hey, punk!" A pedestrian yelled. Rembrandt didn't entertain him. He kept running straight until he saw the place he was intending to go. He spotted several Warriors chilling in the Little Budda.

Rembrandt walked through the open doors and whistled to gather the Warriors attention. When he seen that he did he said, "Come on guys! War Council!" Rembrandt ran out the store, and the Warriors followed him. Busting a move away from their seats, and the time was about to come. The important meeting of the century!


	3. City Lights!

_**Coney Island, New York City**_  
_Just outside The Warriors hangout._

In the center of the lot was more congested than Chinatown, Manhattan on it's busiest days. It was men clad out in orange-red pleather vest leaning their backs against fences, old cardboard's, broken big-pieced wooden walls or sat on crates. Mostly standing, anxiously, waiting for whatever was about to come. It was very humid in the air, so it was uncomfortable to be bunched in one area. Some of the vested men were trying to squeeze up on each other to attempt to find decent spots. The area was loud and live from whispered conversations going into louder ones by the second. In the middle of it all was Vermin, Cowboy, Cochise, Rembrandt, Achilles, Brix, and Swan.

Rembrandt spotted Swan near the old trailer, he squeezed between a couple of the soldiers. It was challenging enough to get past them to reach Swan. He called his name, but obviously, Swan couldn't hear him due to the noise. Rembrandt shoved with his hands and elbows to gain some space. When he finally reached Swan, he tapped Swan on his shoulder. Swan looked turned his head towards Rembrandt, looking into his questioningly eyes and simply nodded without answer. Swan jumped, grabbing onto the edge of the old trailer, using his legs to support his weight lift as he stood up before brushing himself off.

Swan turned to his Warriors. Thoughts ran through his mind as the young faces looked upon him, all depending on his leadership. Swan wasn't nervous, and he was highly confident in his leadership skills to lead his comrades to victory. But unfortunately, deep within the pits of his stomach, Swan knew that some soldiers may be lost. He figured they knew the consequences in banging in the Coney outfit or any outfit for that matter. As natural sweat from the weather, ran down his face, arms and chest, he opened his mouth to let out the air he held in, and was about to begin his speech.

"Alright, Warriors listen up!" Swan yelled loud and firm enough for the Warriors could here. They all stopped, and looked up at their assigned leader. Awaiting the words. Swan's eyes scanned the recruitment area, outside of it, even the part that led down the slopes where the jewelry store is, to the steel steps leading up to one of the entrances of the hangout, the roof of men looking down at him. He knew there were Warriors in the back of the trailer he was standing on that was proceeding into the alley adjacent from this one.

He was amongst one-hundred plus Warriors. All of them were armed with various weapons that wasn't firepower, so you'd know that they were up to something. That something was no good, but for a good cause. "I know you guys are wondering why are you here," Mumbling and head nods told Swan, evidently, they were, "Okay, here's the deal. We're breaking Ajax out of jail, and we'll need all the muscle we got," Swan said simply. Simply wasn't enough. Some Warriors that were new bloods didn't know who Ajax was or why everybody in their set needed to be involve in breaking one Warrior out.

"Problems?" Swan asked no one in particular.

"Yeah, but no problem, just a concern, Warlord." A voice from the crowd said. Swan looked around to see who was pointing, and that's when he saw one Warrior with his hand raised to show it was him. He was 5'6, Italian-American, dark-complexion, and had light brown-eyes. He was young with a old battle-hard face. He was a mean mother before joining the Warriors. He was originally from Harlem, much like Cochise that moved to Coney Island, he moved to Coney because his mother and father ran a place called "The Meat Market." But now only his father works it with his sons. He was of Italian and African descent, which explains his dark colored skin. His hair was silky, combed neatly back into curls. Carmine was his name. He was Stefano, the butcher's, son. One of them.

Swan didn't ask again, he just waited for Carmine to speak his thoughts. "Well-why? Why have the whole set go up somewhere and save one Warrior?" When he seen the look in his Warlords eyes, he shook his head, "That's not what I meant-I'm talking about sending the whole gang, where we all can get locked up or worse-wasted?"

"Hey, he's right Swan," Cowboy intervened. "If anything, we would get wrecked by those dudes, or put in lock up. It's to much of a close call, man."

Swan wasn't defeated just yet, "So what do you plan to do?" Swan asked no one in particular. It was a free-for-all answering question. "Tell me,"

"I don't know. I say we bring the muscle. We need everyone on this, because the cops will be on our asses faster than we can run." Snow said. A calm-speaking Warrior that was another survivor of the events that happened months ago. "Swan's right, we need everybody."

Vermin sighed and shook his head in disbelief, "Look guys. I'm all for helping Ajax too. He was my buddy just like he was to most of you. But if it means leaving Coney unguarded and letting another gang march right in here and take over the place, than I don't know. I'm not comfortable with that man," Vermin said.

Many of the Warriors started chattering in agreement with what Vermin and Carmine had said. Nobody was really pleased of leaving their turf to get booked in, all at once. It just didn't make no sense.

Swan looked over at Rembrandt and Cochise, "You guys have anything to say?"

"Yeah, let's wreck them all!" Cochise yelled with a strong fist struck into the air, but nobody followed. "Brotha's, we ain't know sucka'z for what can go on. I say we bring all the soldiers, and tear those cops something nice and bring our brother back home, where he belongs. Even if we do get wrecked or arrested by the pigs, at least we know our campaign didn't all go to the ground, ya dig?" Cochise said strongly. Cochise knew Ajax was a hot-head, but they also was the original Warriors in the beginning, and they loved to [bad word deleted] sh*t up, and get some some wool.

Cowboy looked at Cochise, and felt confidence building within him. Even though he wasn't strong on the idea, he still wanted his friend back. "You know? Cochise have a point. Swan, remember back in the park when I said I owe Ajax," Swan said, "Yeah," Cowboy continued, "I still do owe him something big. He saved my ass back there months ago. If he didn't, I wouldn't be standing here today 'fending up to the dude, I'll be wasted somewhere in Riverside park and carried out in a bodybag." Cowboy just shook his head in discomfort at the visual, "So for saying that, we have to get Ajax out for all cost."

"He's right," Rembrandt attempted to climb up on the trailer. Swan helped him up, "Thanks, but he's right. Ajax gave me the confidence I needed to become a full Warrior. So did Cleon, but now Cleon is gone. And I miss him to this day. I really don't want to see that happen to Ajax," Rembrandt felt a lone tear about to come out, but he tried not to let it fall down the side of his cheek, "I love Ajax, as much as I love all my Warriors. I felt like I belonged. And the way the Hi-Hats say it," As soon as he said the words Hi-Hats, some of the Warriors started to grumble, because it was the Hi-Hats that went back on their word back in Soho, ad killed nearly every gang that attended the Writer's Competition. Even had the audacity to step on their turf. "Woah woah, calm down you guys. Let's not lose focus. Yeah we had some bad run-ins with them, but I'm going to stick by their word. Ajax don't have much time left!" Rembrandt eyes were almost pleading. He was nearly the youngest one, and people looked down upon him like a little brother, so some Warriors started mumbling positively to it.

"Alright, I see where you coming from little man, but what? Are we expendable? If we save Ajax and some of our comrades get arrested, your just going to go on and leave us?" Carmine asked aggravatingly.

"No they won't," A voice came from the crowd. "I've got arrested plenty of times and no Warrior left me behind. Cops even left me on the gutter, but Warriors came through for me. And I was a new blood back then. I still am a new blood." Malcom said. A wide grin spread across his face, as he pounded his chest, "Warriors forever!" Malcom screamed. He was about 5'9, dark-skinned, and wore no shirt so it revealed his hairy chest, and his hair wasn't what you would say 'not nappy', it was. He was a muscle though.

"F*ck yeah!" Another Warrior said. He had brown curly hair, with a headband wrapped around, and he was one of the few Warriors that wore shirts, and much like Ajax-leather gloves, steel-toe boots and brown khaki pants. Lynx was a hard-headed Warrior and the original batch of new bloods. He was a soldier that accompanied Cleon, Vermin, Ajax and Fox up in Chinatown. "Let's f*ck some sh*t up,"

"Yeah let's do it!" Rembrandt smiled and banged his fist hard in the invisible air as well. "Come on, guys!" Some of the Warriors smiled, or smirked with intentions of getting into fights with the cops was satisfying enough; they started an uproar which encouraged more Warriors. And soon, the whole alleys of the night were echoing battle cry screams. They were only calmed when Swan told them, "Pipe down, Warriors!"

"Real great, but what about you Swan?" Snow asked.

Swan rose a eyebrow, confused at the question being asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, now we're all with you. What do you really want to do, Warlord?" Snow asked again. Swan caught on this time. Unlike the other Warriors who didn't catch on or knew there was even a catch to the question, Swan caught on the secret meaning behind the question. As much as Swan disapproved of Ajax attitude and much likely his well-being, with the add-on to the fact he left Ajax there in the park only for Snow and Cowboy to go back to check on him, Swan had his pride as well as his code to keep up. That's when Cleon's visual and voice came into his head. "You forgot one thing, Swan," Cleon said.

"I'll never leave any Warrior behind. Ajax is coming back with us. We're all Warriors, and we stick together. You got that?" Swan asked everybody. The looks in their faces told him that they approved, and was willing to go along with the plan. But wait, "So what's the plan? Anybody got one?"

It took them a minute. They shrugged, and said, "We'd thought you have one, Warlord." Swan started to think himself, but came up with nothing.

"Well, we can't just go barging in there. I think I got a plan that's just crazy enough to work!" Cowboy said. He jumped onto the trailer, gaining up his own weight on it, and stood amongst his Warriors. "Okay, listen everybody, here is the plan." Cowboy began talking his idea and the plan slowly started formulating.

_**Later that night.**_

The meeting was now over. The plan has been perfectly laid out. All the Warriors needed was no mess ups. If there were, there was going to be a lot of downfalls and the mission was going to be all for nothing. The big breakout will be in the next three days. The Warriors on the eastside of Coney were holding it down, and had no knowledge about the meeting or the plan, but Swan had sent Cowboy, Cochise and Rembrandt down there to let the Warriors of the east know. At first they were hesitant but finally agreed to follow their leader to wherever, whenever. Everything seemed to be going well...until...

"Swan, I just don't think we can do this anymore," Mercy rubbed her temples in irritation. "Why do you even come by, huh! To spit in my face!"

Swan crossed his arm over his exposed chest, giving Mercy a [bad word deleted]ed expression that was screwing quickly on his face, "I just came to tell you that there's something big going on in two days. I might not make it back, I just thought you'd wanna' know,"

Mercy moved the strand of hair away from her eyes, that showed a worried look creeping on her face. "Oh," She said in a whisper. Her heart felt like it was beating harder through her breast, as if it wanted to pump out. The way Swan had put it, it's as if he expected himself to die on whatever he's carrying out, Mercy didn't like it at all, despite their differences-she had feelings for him since the first time they met, even through his careless attitude, she knew he could be soft when it comes to something that they both never admitted-love.

Mercy is a Latina that was girlfriend of Sully, a cat that leads a little league gang called; Orphans up in Tremont, Bx. Though she was taken, she was a loose cannon. She pulled tricks with a few, and even reduced her standards to sleeping with some of the Orphans behind Sully's back. She was a prostitute. She was born poor, and not much was known about her childhood, only her livelihood. She never gotten out in life, never went anywhere, so it was only natural for her to be intrigued when the Warriors came marching in her neighborhood, she decided to follow them, even though she was sort of forced to.

In only a matter of minutes, her and the late Fox developed a liking to each other. That was until he saved her by taking the heat, literally, facing off with a cop. Little did she know the Fox got tossed over and got hit by a train, but he was soon a distant memory and she fell in love with another; Swan. He was mysterious which was hard to get around, especially the attitude he showed towards her. It was headaches but oddly enough a turn-on. She liked challenges and wanted to uncover his whole story.

"So, your taking me with you right?" Mercy asked.

Swan cocked an eyebrow, looking at her confusingly, "What?"

This time, Mercy sat up from her bed. She walked at Swan. In his eyes. The eyes she fell in love with. The eyes she will follow. "I said your taking me with you, right!" She asked. It was more of a matter-of-fact statement than a question.

"No, Mercy this is no walk-to-the-park." When he seen she was about the protest he continued, "Don't. I don't want you in on this, okay?"

Mercy shook her head in disappointment. "No, Swan. You know I haven't been anywhere before. And I thought I proved that to you already. I prove that I'm a fighter. I prove that I'm smart, and I'm a Warrior. Come on..." She pleaded, "Please?"

"No, that's final. Plus, your already somewhere. In here, doing these digs. That's smart enough," Swan's eyes narrowed, sternly at her with a grim face growing.

Mercy felt like tears wanted to come out, but she was a big girl and kept her head up high. Her heart was crushed though, "W-w-what? That's cold, Warrior, real f*ckin, cold. So what? I'm nothing to you? Then, why the hell you come in here tellin' me your going somewhere like your not comin' back!" Her voice croaked.

Swan still had his grim mask on his face. His hands fell to the side as he sighed in tiredness. "I'm just here to tell you, that's all." Swan lied, and he knew that was poor one at that. "It's whatever though, it doesn't matter to me if you care or not." Swan eyes observed her room, not impressed, and shrugged, "I hope you have a good life, Mercy," Swan said nonchalant.

Mercy shook her head before Swan got a chance to leave through the window, she grabbed him by the wrist. With a strong tug, she pulled him from the window, and made him face towards her way. "You just don't get it do you?" With that, Mercy stood on her tippy-toes and gave Swan a firm passionate kiss. Swan returned it, roughly, they engaged in a hungrily kiss. Mercy mumbled something through her lips but Swan didn't catch it. He stuck his tongue in her mouth which Mercy gladly accepted, and started wrestling with his tongue.

The Warlord removed small blouse from her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground, as he picked her up by her rear. They-or-he walked her over to the bed, spreading her thighs a part. She kicked off her pink heels, and started to remove her bra by herself, and watched as Swan took off his trademark vest, showing off his masculine body frame. She was turned on by it, and felt the heat build up when her black skirt was moved up her thighs, as Swan removed her panties, pulling them down her legs and toss them in a random spot in the room.

He kept her skirt up, and moved back a little to unbutton his brown pants, pulling them down a few inches below his knees. Mercy scurried more onto the bed as Swan crawled on her body, between her thighs, and that's when it happened. He entered himself inside of her, she let out a small gasp, as he thrusted himself harder. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her nails scraped the skin on his back. The night dragged on through the night as hours past as Mercy and Swan expressed their feelings through their animalistic transactions.  
-

==================================  
**Astroland, Coney Island.**

"Hey man, I got the F, that will have you spinning on the walls," The dealer chuckled. "Want to try some?" A lanky Caucasian offered. He stood at least 5'7, brown hair that curled up just a few inches reaching his back with a dirty white tank-top with a hand symbol on it. His pants were old, brown pants and dusty shoes, but he was a drug dealer known as Stacey.

His customer nodded nervously. Stacey gave the customer a sample. The fiend looked greedily at his hands, snatching it and start snorting the whole bag. When he was done, his nose was bright red, and snot was drooling from his nostrils. "That's some awesome stuff man," The fiend gave t he dealer a dirty looking bill. Stacey looked at it weirdly, holding the bill outward making sure it was a real. He was satisfied it was and gave the fiend his product. He snatched it and ran like it was no tomorrow.

The fiend moved swiftly between the small crowd in front of Twiggy, Buddah store, and headed into the narrow alleyway. He nearly tripped over one of the garbage cans but regained his shifty balance as he continued to run until he ran into a fence. He quickly hopped it, landing perfectly and continued down the pathway. He bumped into a dark skinned man clad out in red apparel.

"Woah, slow the f*ck down, son," Lamar shouted. He was a knife dealer that was always in the back alleys, avoiding the cops detection. He always supply gang members, only Warriors, with high quality blades for a high price. He looked at the fiend jump the other fence, just behind Skinny Pete's Voodoo Motors carshop, into the spacious area where some other of the drunks were. He spat a mucus wad on the ground, and stepped closer to the shadows as he continued sharping his knife with the other.

He didn't notice that he bumped into a dealer. He didn't know he bumped into anything at all. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, so therefore, he didn't notice the group of three he ran across as he hid behind in the shadows behind a dumpster, right behind Voodoo Motors on the right hand side. He searched his pocket, and a piece of paper. He put the paper on the dumpster, emptying the contents soon right after, and started sniffing the 'flash' he copped from the dealer. "Ahhh, [bad word deleted]," He sneezed, and wiped the gooey boogers from his nostrils as he continued to inhale the remaining of the contents, and slumped over out of the shadows on his stomach, waiting for his high to get on.

"What the hell?" Cowboy looked at hyperactive fiend and said, "Uh, wow,"At the fallen out junkie. Him, and two other new bloods were speaking with Rudy, a old war veteran that was telling his old war stories in a drunken slur. Cowboy looked from the junkie back to Rudy, as the conversation continued.

The junkie was feeling himself. His high was starting to hit. He clumsily got up, and put his back against the gate, and looked ahead of him. Around the fiery barrel, he saw four people, three of them clad in red-orange vest. His vision was a little blurred, but it was coming two and he started to recognize who they were, "Oh f*ck man, it's the f*ckin Warriors, haha, I'm seeing these mannnn." He wiped the crust from his eyes and had a toothless laugh. There were several teeth missing from his mouth, making him a real as*hole.

Cowboy looked at the junkie suspiciously, "Yeah? What's it to you pal?" Cowboy stared for a moment at the junkie. He looked awfully familiar, like he seen him some place before. "Wait a sec," Cowboy pictured a blue vest over the junkie over his shoulders and a clearer but still f*cked up face. "Well, well, I'll be," Cowboy fixed his hat as he walked over to the junkie, "LC? Wow," Cowboy chuckled, "It's really you man, I thought you got wasted with the rest of that Destroyer trash,"

Meet LC. As some may know him. He was what Snow would say; "Virgil junkie b*tch." That he was. LC was a lieutenant along with Lemmy, Beansie, and Swan, Cleon, Cowboy, and Vermin at the time when they were lieutenants in a Destoyer, a set that ruled Coney with a Iron Fist. The story is simple. Cleon and Vermin detached themselves from the Destroyers, creating the Warriors, with ex Destroyer lieutenants Cowboy and Swan. The rivalry was going on for awhile, until the Warriors decided it was the final straw as the Virgil and his Destroyers wasted Ash, a new blood. They took their revenge and blood rained on Coney that night as the Warriors.

Some of the Destroyers that did survive ran out of Coney in fear of being killed with the rest of their fallen comrades. Apparently, LC somehow survived too. He never left Coney he stayed in Coney this whole time, using money he picked-pocket from the dead destroyers, and continued to spend it on flash to get a good high. He was a junkie before the Warriors, during the Warriors time, and the end of the Destroyer reign. At heart, he loved to get drunk and wasted more than he spent his 'valuable' time gang-banging.

LC breathed heavily from the huge dosage he took. Trying to regain his composure before he falls over again. He saw someone coming up to him, and it was a Warrior. Sh*t, he thought. He felt his heart about to pop out of his chest. He remained all these months under Warriors detection and this time he was made. And he was made by a Destroyer-turned-Warrior lieutenant.

Cowboy felt LC tensed up, which was quite funny to say the least, because it was humorous to f*ck around with LC. He was like a retarded kid in a adult body. Cowboy had a cheeky smile before planting a hand on LC shoulder, "I'm not going to hurt ya', how you been?"

"Hurt? Hurt man? Mannn, haha, you guys can't hurt me. I'm a invisible man! You Warriors can't see me!" LC said through his croaked voice. He was shaking, and it only gotten worse when the other two Warriors Cowboy were with coming right towards him.

"Who's this clown, LT?" A new blood asked. He had a short afro, another shirtless Warrior with dark blue jeans and black converses. Cody, one of the original new bloods.

Cowboy looked at Cody, "You don't remember him? This is LC, man. Destroyers junkie."

LC tensed up at the word junkie. Even though he knew he was, he didn't like it coming from a goddamn person, especially his old enemies. He said, "Forget you, dudes!" That was the last thing he said before he got his shirt gripped on and tossed on the ground by a new blood.

"Whatchu' say punk!" The new blood pressed. He was fully clothed Warrior. He had a yellow shirt under his signature vest, with brown pants, and blue converses that didn't match with the rest of his outfit. He was brown-skinned and he was a quick-tempered Warrior. "Hey, Cowboy, let me chop this ugly brotha' up," Rhino insisted by taking a switchblade out to show emphasis.

Cowboy put his arm on Rhino, "No," Cowboy sneered, "I think this dude had enough. Him and Destroyers don't run Coney no more. He's nothing, dude."

Rhino still held a tight grip on his blade, shaking anxiously awaiting to drive the pointer inside LC eye or neck. "Come on, give me the go, Cowboy. It was because of this jerk and his gang I got a f*ckin' slice on my face," Rhino had a scar on his forehead from a switchblade that connected with him when the big attack was going on and all the new bloods were out running wild on Destroyer turf; finding anything they could and literally, destroy the gang. Rhino was cornered by one of the lieutenants and a few soldiers and nearly got killed if it wasn't for Cleon.

Cody put his palm over Rhino fist. "Nah, brotha', it ain't worth it. Look at him," Cody sent a kick to LC face, causing redness to appear around hi right-eye.

"Ouch! What the f*ck man, I didn't do anything to you guys, forget you!"

That was it. Though he was pleading, Rhino pushed Cody away, to gain his seconds of freedom before plunging the blade deep into shoulder, causing a gush of blood to spill out. He drove it in deeper, twisting and turning, amused at LC cries of pain and help. Rhino removed the knife, and wiped the blood on LC's dirty white shirt, and pressed his soles onto his stomach before getting off of him, backed away by Cowboy's hand.

Cody and Cowboy laughed at LC as they kicked him. He didn't care. His mind was just to focused on the pain in his shoulder. He attempted to get up, holding himself up by his bent knees and jogged away looking as if he were drunk when he 'ran.'

"I think you made that dude, cry," Cowboy mocked, "I think he [bad word deleted] his pants," Cowboy clapped his hands as if he were congratulating Rhino a job well done.

"Chicken sh*t", Cody bud in.

Rhino laughed himself, "Sh*t, f*ck that dude," Rhino felt proud, even if he nearly killed a bum, but to him, he felt like he just taken down a big Warlord. LC heard them laughing, he looked over his shoulders, and his thoughts were true; they were laughing at him, and he held a grudge to the new blood that did it. He wouldn't forget that. But first he needed to get fixed up, and some weed.

**Stillwell Ave, Coney Island.**

Rembrandt was seated on the bench, kicking back and forth the invisible air, as his Afro brushed past different directions with the night wind's current brushing past his revealed skin. There was a lot of things on his mind. Everything was just so mixed up.

He let out a sad sigh, as he suggested he dig into his messenger back, and took out a small hardcover book. He opened it up, where it displayed several different designs for the Warriors tag. It had a few whacky funny toons on the side of the word Warriors, or just a whole throw-up put together. He desperately wanted to try these works out but he knew that'll have to come later. He flipped a few pages, until he stumbled upon one of his recent drawings; a soldier. It was a Greek soldier; Spartans. He studied about them in school and loved their story.

300 soldiers facing off against endless hordes of Persians. It was surprising how many Persians they took with them before their final hour. Though they lost, they made a huge name for themselves to everybody and the historians who wrote and talked about them. His gang kinda reminded him of the great 300. Enemies were all on sides, and it was a fight to the death until the last man was standing.

Rembrandt looked at the soldier, and wanted to fill in the black-and-white drawing. A smile came across his face, sighing in satisfaction in his moments of memory-lane as he closed the book shut and saw a shadow over him. He was startled, "Woah!" Rembrandt jumped back in the bench and looked at the figure, but he calmed down when he saw who it was.

He was a man that was probably in his mid thirties or forties. He had ashy-like dark skin. A gray-and-black beard, and some crazy looking orange glasses with black frames. A few months ago, way before the meeting he was betrayed by the Hi-Hats and tossed off from a high enough position that could kill anybody. But he managed to live somehow; Scopes, one of the greatest New York graffiti legends that ever lived.

"Hey, hey, Rembrandt, what's going on champ?" Scopes gave Rembrandt a pound before taking his seat right besides him.

"Hey, hey Scopes. Nothing much man, I didn't expect to see you,"

"Well actually young blood, I was coming here to catch the train to head up to Harlem to catch a few tags when the cats out the bag," Scopes rapped. In other words, he meant cat out of the bag as when the night goes into replacement for the day, so he can hit whatever spot bright early. It was better to move at night but one would guess that's why they called him Scopes.

Rembrandt looked at him as if he were crazy, "You really going to Harlem like that? How are you going to piece with no paint?"

It was Scopes turn to look at him as if he were crazy. He gave him a toothy smile, "Sh*t little man, I can but stand on my own and show I ain't no toy, mann," He continued his little talk rap, "I digs high and low, or steal and no kill, for the art to paint on the walls, HEY!" Scopes slapped Rembrandt on the back, "It's a walk through the park, smooth, brother, smooth, ya dig?"

Rembrandt was speechless. "Uh, yeah, heh, I dig Scopes, I dig."

"So what's up blood? You looking downer then a mutha'fo,"

Rembrandt reclined back in his bench seat, looking up at the moon, catching himself in a daze before he spoke, "Well, it's just... Soon something big is coming out. And I-"

"Breaking one of your brothers out of jail, which would be harder to pick up than your average beach whale," Before Rembrandt could ask how he knew, "I'm Scopes. I hear everything going around in this city. If some fine lady got her booty spanked in some stripper bar, best believe, Scopes know," Both Rembrandt and Scopes shared a hearty laugh.

"You sure are one funny dude, Scopes, but fo'real mann," Rembrandt dragged out, "I just hope he's alright. And it's not just him I'm worried about. It's about leaving Coney unprotected and having all our soldiers get japped or booked in. It's just a big campaign,"

Scopes gave a big smile and put his hand on Rembrandt soldier. A loud rambling sound shook the earth under their feet. A loud wailing sound blared in their ear drums. The train was coming, but Scopes paid it no mind at the moment, "Listen Rembrandt. You gotta understand. I taught you the ropes. I know your a monster, baby, you no joke! You and them Warriors are big, way far from the bottom of the list. Lookie here, I peeped the drawing you drew," Scopes put his hand on Rembrandt book, and flipped a few pages until he found what he was looking for, "You see that? Those are true Warriors. Them true fighters right there! You are Warriors, that have no fear in your heart, so you finish this big ol' mission you guys got going on, from start to end, to end to start,"

The train was now pulling up. Rembrandt felt confused, "Wait, what do you mean by 'end to start?'"

"You'll know what I mean, you guys are a live team," Scopes pointed at the soldiers helm and traced a line to his armor, "That's where the heart is. Nobody can penetrate the heart, as long as you stay gold, and there...the truth will be told," Rembrandt took a second to look down at his drawing, trying to figure out what Scopes mean. He could be trivial sometimes, but his words could be caught on in a snap if you were smart enough, but Rembrandt was lost. "S-s-copes, I still d-" Rembrandt paused as he looked up and seen Scopes on the train waving at him.

"See you lata baby!" Scopes waved at Rembrandt before he disappeared in the crowd coming off the train. When they were gone, so was Scopes; the train doors closed and the train slowly started to pull off into the engine started kicking in, and the motion was going faster. The train self-generated its own wind when it rushed away from Stillwell. Rembrandt had about a second before putting his pages back before they were ripped away from the book to scatter all over the place. He closed the book up and place it in his messenger bag, as he stared off at the train until it was out of sight.

**REVIEW THIS CHAPTER PLEASE**

Chapter four coming soon!


	4. Heartless Farewells

**The next day...**  
_Ten O' Clock in the morning.  
_  
Mercy got up from a restless sleep. There was a lot on her mind, but last night was wild. In fact that was the best night she ever had. Out of all the men she ever slept with, she didn't know how to respond to last night adventure. Especially if your telling it to a man like Swan. She wondered if he ever had some before, because it was amazing how he was always so stiff and sour around everybody. Maybe a night of magic had loosen him up, she thought.

Her hair was a mess. It was in desperate need of a serious fix. She groaned, her head throbbing from when Swan had her on her back, with his hand mashed down on her temple. He was one tough Warrior alright. She'll get over it. Mercy looked over at Swan who was sleeping soundlessly. She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before getting out of bed and heading into the bathroom.

Mercy flickered on the lights, sighing at the view in front of her; roaches crawling off the toothbrush, a mice squeezing its body inside a big crack hole in the wall, and the tub was no doubtingly dirty. Mercy rubbed her temple, in thought if this is the life she really had chosen for herself. For some reason, Swan didn't allow her to crash a place in the hangout, so she had to go through at least three men, staying home with them in return for some 'pleasurable services' until she met up with Mr. Norton.

Mr. Norton was a man that finely fit for a guy his age. He was a skinny man with a wife and possibly children. He had a rough life. His wife always trying to take control of him, and work always was a pain in the butt. Answering calls all day and listening to customers life story, that involved a few curses here and there. He didn't like arguing. He was just a sweet man in his fifties that is lonely.

One day, Mercy met this man in the streets. He was sobbing heartlessly. There were bruises on around his eye area, and blood spilling from his bottom lip. Mercy found it somewhere in her heart to comfort the man, and he offered her a place to stay, judging by the clothes she was wearing-she looked homeless herself, and she told him that, purposely to seee if he could give her a place. He had money in two bank accounts for over the years. One was his, and the other was a shared account with him and his wife.

He rented a raggedy apartment that reeked up sperm, and piss. It was like living back in Tremont with the Orphans but a little worse. The man even had the audacity to threaten Mercy to gve him sex, that he would have her back on the streets in a heartbeat. Yes, she was desperate because forcibly by Swan's orders, she couldn't stay with him, so she had to resort to drastic measeures. It's been about a month, every three times a week Mr. Norton will find it in his time to come down to the apartment and make 'love' to Mercy.

Not only was he a lonely man, but he was a romantic at heart. She never liked sexing him, but to him it was a fantasy come true. In his mind, it was like being in love with a prostitue that you couldn't turn housewife, so you have it where you hold her against her will and find it in the time and place to take advantage of her situation. Mercy, as a tough chick she was to an extent had to give in to that and live with what she had. She hated Swan for it too at times.

Mercy looked in the mirror, looking at her hair and was disgusted at it. It was a messy. It looked as if a kid was ruffling with her hair. She decided it'd be best, not to use the toothbrush or wash cloth. Instead she used her hands when she turned the faucet, and splashed the water on her face. After she was done, she left the bathroom and seen Swan was already up pulling his hands up his legs and slipped his foot in his steel-toe boots. He stopped momentarily to look at Mercy. There was no words said. He picked up his Warriors vest and placed his arms through the sleeveless part.

"I see that you're up," Swan said nonchalant tone.

Mercy scoffed, "Yeah?" Mercy crossed her arms over her breast, standing naked in front of him as she walked towards him, "So what? You already dressed to leave without saying goodbye?"

Swan stared into her eyes, showing no signs of expression, "That wasn't in the plan, but yeah, I suppose I was,"

Mercy eyes narrowed. She felt her body shaking. She felt the urge to smack some sense into the man she reluctantly loved, "What kind of chicken sh*t crap is that? Is it me? I know it can't be me, I didn't do nothing to you but lo-" She paused before filling the rest of the sentence and took a deep breather, "Okay, forget it okay?"

"It's already forgotten, Mercy," Swan said coldly, "Look," Swan paused as he turned around to the curtains that were beamed through with a radiant light that brought life to the filth-carrying apartment. He jerked his head back, letting the loose strands of hair fall back in place out of his view. He walked towards the window he took exits and entrance in, and started to get out but stopped to look at Mercy, "I've got to get going, the soldiers will need me."

"Ah soldiers this, soldier that!" Mercy yelled, "I've got to get going, I've got to do that. Blah, blah, Swan, all of that is bullsh*t and you know it!" Mercy dropped her hands from her breast and angrily walked over to where Swan was, "You come in here, you get between my legs and you expect me to let you leave with my heart! You got some nerve, Warrior, you know that?" She started saying something in Spanish, but Swan didn't understand it.

"We don't got time for this, what we did-was probably a mistake," Swan didn't look Mercy in the eyes that time but he knew that struck a vital spot in her heart when he did. He kinda felt like those words slipped out his mouth. They weren't intentional, but what was intentional was the sound and hard feeling of slap coming across his face. Swan looked at Mercy and saw angry in her eyes. He rubbed his cheek, feeling the slight sting on his skin, "Real tough chick," Swan put one leg out the window, with the other following right behind it. He didn't look back, he was on the fire escape and continued down the metal stairs, leaving behind a dark empty heart as Mercy stood staring off at the window he departed from with stained tears on her cheeks.

**The Hangout, Coney Island.**  
_10: 24 A.M. _

In the hangout it was full of Warriors. All of them conversing about the big day tomorrow. The new bloods didn't seem worried to say the least, they were all excited and very willing to prove to their superiors they have what it takes to bust heads anywhere everywhere. Some soldiers were drinking until they hearts were content, to ease the nerves of nervousness. While others were just toying around and macking off with the females that hung out in their hangout nearly 24/7. Everyday the hangout was live.

Cochise was downstairs, sending various kicks, trained in Tae Kwon Do arts, at the punching bag. The punching bag was new. The last punching bag was getting tired out from extending its use, and one Warrior sent a blade scratching through the material, spilling out all the grainy contents inside. Cochise sent a two cross punches to the side of the bag. He was stopped by a voice intended for him through the loud voices that filled the full house.

COCHISE!

"Huh? Who that?" The voice was coming from no one other than Snow.

Snow hopped over the railing, landing on his feet and walked over to Cochise, "What's up man? How are you feeling?"

Cochise looked at Snow funny, giving a humorous chuckle, "What'chu mean, man? I'm feeling finner than a muthafu*ka," Cochise laughed through breaths and tossed a few more punches to the hard bag, "Shoot, man! We bustin' Ajax ass outta' jail, and marching with the whole army. How else am I suppose to be feelin?" Cochise stopped punching the bag and looked at Snow.

Snow sucked his teeth, looking off into nowhere in thought, "I don't know, it just seems messed up you know? I just feel like something it's going to go wrong with this. I'll trust my instincts, but I'm still all for it; busting Ajax out of jail because me and him been down forever. Even before we joined up with the Warriors, we were heavy alone, know what I'm sayin?"

Cochise didn't really have a clue what Snow was talking about. He didn't know what he was trying to get at. He gave him a questioningly look, "Uh, nah, bro, I don't, but you need to lighten up man! Nothing will go wrong! We're the f*ckin' Warriors!" Cochise exclaimed.

"I second that, Warriors for life, that's what's sup!" A new blood co-signed. He walked over to Cochise and gave him dap before downing the vodka bottle he held in his hands.

"That's right, brotha'," Cochise sneered and looked at Snow, who still seemed something was troubling him, "Hey come on, man, lighten up, like I said. There's nothing to be worried about. Soon, we'll be feared and we will be so bigger than the Riffs one day we will be able to march down any neighborhood, any turf we want and wreck anybody,"

"Cochise is right about one thing-we do got muscle," Vermin said joining in on the conversation. He hate a small piece of burger in his hands and downed it quick. He brushed off the grease on his pants, "One day maybe we could take on the Riffs, what you worry about Snow?" Vermin asked through a muffled mouth.

Usually, Snow would be the confident, cool under pressure guy, hence the name Snow, but it was just something fishy about it. He knew his brothers wasn't going to let him think to much and try to lighten him up no matter what, so Snow just threw his hands in surrender, "It just seems messed up to me, but I guess you dudes are right, we are heavy,"

"Solid," Vermin and Snow exchanged daps.

"You need to watch them greasy ass fingers of yours too, chubby," Snow said playfully.

"Yeah, he's right. It's like every time I see you, your growing an extra fat!" Snow and Cochise shared a laugh, and gave each other five.

"Hey forget you dudes, okay, that was some good burgers. I was hungry okay, sheesh, a guy can't eat no more?"

"Oh yeah sucka', you can eat, we can't have you starving. Otherwise you'll eat every gang in this city, including us." Cochise sneered as he planted a playful smack on Vermin stomach. Vermin shoved him away, "You guys are jerks," Vermin looked at Snow, "Hey Snow, you mind comin' with me? It's my turn to collect weeks paycheck, and I don't feel like going from West-to-East Coney alone,"

"No problem, I'll go with you, I need to get something from over in East Coney anyway. I need to get over at Maury's bar to get a couple of Molotov's." Maury is a deceased shop owner that owned a Destroy buisness and hangout spot. He was soon killed by Cleon when a Molotov was tossed over the protective bar gates and was captured in the fire, and was burned alive.

"Wait hold up, I'm coming too," Cochise stated. He walked over to the useless debris that was situated over the steel bar for the pull-ups, pulling off the white towel and dried himself off and tossed the towel over to the debris where the useless junk was and like that the three top-ranked Warriors left.

..,,,

On the upper-level in the hangout in the lounge area, Rembrandt was seating down on the old furniture, scrambling around in his notebook. Scopes words still were in his mind. Rembrandt found a blank page, and took out black pen and began drawing a visual that was in his mind, aching to be revealed in the open. Rembrandt had a pretty good idea on how he was going to carry this picture out.

...,,

On the other side on the hangout, where the old television was, Cowboy sat on the steel chair, bored as he flickered through random channels. One channel caught his attention. He stopped and turned up the television. He couldn't hear it through the loud chatter and the radio playing. "Hey! Can someone turn the radio and shut up for a second, there's something important on,"

"Alright man, I got it," One of the new bloods insisted. He turned off the radio and walked over where the television was, "What's goin' on man?"

"Look," Cowboy said as he turned the television up to its max, and listened intently.

_Hello, Charlotte Jameson here. I am reporting live at the Hillside Correctional Facility. I am with the warden of the facility, where it was reported by a security guard where a riot started out this morning during breakfast time. A gang-member stabbed another gang-member, when one of them skipped the line. A small fight went into another as the gang-member known as Ajax, a member of the Warriors from Coney Island, was stabbed and sent to the prison hospital. Doctors reported the the patient is in stable condition. The fight also expanded in the cafeteria. Other inmates got wild and it resulted in several wounded and two security guards killed in the mix._

She handed the microphone to the Warden. He screen read, Warden Sheldon Matthews.

"Hello, I am Sheldon Matthews, Warden of the Hillside Correctional Facility. Yes, just like Ms. Jameson has stated. A small pointless fight over a line in the cafeteria ended up with three inmates injured, and two of my guards dead. Please know that these gang-bangers will be put in their place. In our files the three inmates have been convicted of various counts, including murder, attempted rape, racketeering, drug selling, conspiracy, and theft. Tomorrow they will be transferred Florence, Colorado Super Maximum Prison hospital and continue their incarceration there."

Jameson took the microphone and began to speak, "This is what the security guard captain had to say," The camera went to Captain Makov.

"Yeah! They belong in that damn prison. We don't need their monkey asses here. They are nothing but trouble. It'll be good for those kids!" Makov let out a heartily laugh in triumph, "I can't wait to see the look on their little dirty faces when they are transferred all the way to Colorado!" He let out more laughs before the camera went back to the anchor women, and another subject came up.

Cowboy and the rest of the Warriors jaws nearly dropped. They were completely in a awe. "Guys, we need to get Ajax outta' there, we definitely won't make it,"

"Yeah, and plus, we can't go all the way to freakin' Colorado. We don't have the money and it's freakin thousands of miles away," Rembrandt added in when he got up from his seat after hearing what was going on. Now he was really afraid for what might happen to Ajax. He won't make it. "Jeez, what're we going to do?"

"We're going to stay calm, that's what." Swan walked through on the entrances, the one that was near the T.V. area. He peered at the soldiers that looked at him. In their eyes from his-to-theirs, he knew they needed guidance. They were heavy, but they looked at him for leadership, and he wants to prove he is right for the job. He had to let them know to stay calm, and whatever happens out there, make the best out of it. Don't run away from anything.

"Tomorrow, we leave in the morning. Make sure your packed, we'll need as much soldiers with weapons as we can." The Warriors nodded their heads, so he continued, "Rembrandt, I want you to hit the spot. You're going to make a big fat piece over the walls of those pigs fu*ks jail," Rembrandt nodded his head and shook his can to show his Warlord he had no problems, "We're getting Ajax out of jail, and we're breaking skulls along the way. There's no if's and's or butt's about it. This is going to be one of our biggest ventures, Warriors, be ready." Swan made sure he looked in all the eyes in the room in front of him. Not any one of them showed signs to speak out of disrespect.  
-

**The Meat Market, Coney Island.**  
_3 P.M.  
_  
Stefano, a fat Italian Butcher, owned the Meat Market. A small family buisness in Western Coney Island. His store was originally under the protection and doing buisness with the Destroyers. That was until Swan and Cowboy came marching into his shop, wrecked the Destroyers inside, and the two workers along with Stefano. Swan didn't kill him or his sons. He allowed him to keep doing buisness under the Warriors watch in which Stefano agreed on.

The fifty-or-sixty year old aged man put the cutting board out in front of him on the counter, with ham on top and started slicing at it with a big meat cleaver. The slices lapped over on each other, something like dominoes. There was only one customer in the store, and he'd had already ordered what he wanted, so buisness was very slow. Stefano put the ham in plastic, putting it back in the glass display, and took a plate from the stack on the side of him and went to sit down at one of the wooden tables.

"Donny!" Stefano called out. Donny come out from the back room, storage room, where the livestock(pigs, and other animals) hung on the hooks. Donny was a lanky cat, with short greasy black hair. He's Carmine's older brother. His face was aging, but he was still young. It wasn't because he used drugs, he hated it. That's just how he naturally aged. Unlike his brother who choose to join the Warriors, Donny stayed along side his father to hold down the family buisness. There was some bad blood between the two but they didn't let it be shown in front of their father.

"Yeah, papa?" Donny wore a black shirt tucked inside his black Pantaloni slacks over his gator shoes.

Stefano started speaking in Italian. It must of been a order. Donny shook his head, and went back in the storage room. He came back out quickly with his work cap on and apron around his body. He worked behind the counter, and started taking care of the two Coney customers coming into the shop. A third one came in, but it wasn't a customer. He was clad out in a Warriors vest and looked very similar to Stefano and Donny.

Carmine looked at Donny. Donny looked at Stefano. Donny gave him a hateful glance before attending the customers. Carmine didn't return that look, he shrugged it off, he didn't want to get into a argument with his brother. Stefano called out to Carmine, "Bour'jorno son! How you been!" Stefano got up from his seat and gave his son a loving hug.

"Hey papa. I've been good. How's the familia restaurant looking?"

Stefano sighed and looked around his store. "It's going," Carmine could tell that his father was lying. Business wasn't very booming with their store. It came here and there. Stefano knew his son was about to question it so he changed the subject, "Are you hear to collect the money?"

"No papa."

"Nonsense!" Stefano exclaimed. "Here, here you go!" Stefano had dug into his pocket and handed it over to Carmine. Carmine accepted it, reluctantly, and placed it in his pocket. "So, how goes things?"

"Well," Carmine took a deep breather before sitting down at the table. "It's going, tomorrow, the big breakout for a Warrior is going down," Carmine didn't look into his father's eyes but knew it was on him.

Stefano, a man of his wisdom, knew how hard the streets were. He knew the discipline. The codes. He knew his son will have to join his brothers in on it. Even if he didn't want to, there was no denying his son of what he needed to do. After having to deal with the gang life nearly his whole life, Stefano had grown tolerant of it, he just wish his son didn't have to get involved. Stefano said, "Look me in my eyes," He began speaking in Italian, when he was done he finally said, "Do what you must. Just be careful."

"Okay papa, I gotta get going, there's some wool I need to get too. A real wolf in sheep clothes." Carmine said trying to lighten the mood. Both father and son shared a laugh, and a final hug. They bid each other farewell for now, and Carmine left up out of store before giving his brother a 'goodbye' look. Donny didn't return it.

**Hillside Correctional Facility hospital.  
**_**Later that night... **__11:30 P.M._

In the hospital, Ajax lied still in the bed, fully awake and aware of his surrondings. He looked in the ceiling, breathing through a oxygen mask, with tubes all around him, and patch that was over his gut on his left side. It hurt like hell but he'll live. Ajax couldn't believe that he let himself get hit like that. Stabbed? Now sitting in the shitty hospital, getting oxygen from a shitty tube in a pussy gown? Blasphemy. He struggled to get out, and the machine on the side started beeping frantically. In a couple a seconds, a nurse that was very attractive ran in and pushed Ajax back down gently. He never felt so weak in his life.

"Just lie down, Ajax. Please, don't get up. It's for your own good." She gave a small smile, and turned to walk away. Ajax ignored her and stared at her small ass, wishing to get up into it but he couldn't even say a word but mutter slurs.

He started thinking of the pussy that shanked him. He remebered on both arms he was tats that read, "Dead Sewers", on it. Rats, literally, that started out somewhere in Queens, and expanded by little in New York prisons. They weren't that heavy as far as numbers are concerned, but they do fulfill contract hits on other gang members in prison for the right price or for the fun of it. As naive Ajax might be, he knew that the fight was picked from the start, and somebody was out to kill him. He just didn't know who ordered it and why. But one thing he knew for sure; survival.

After spending hours in the hospital bed, Ajax slowly started drifting to sleep, before thinking about his brethern in Coney Island. There was no visits. Not from Rembrandt, Snow, or that asshole off a Warchief, Swan. There was a twist in his stomach that wanted to waste Swan for not even helping him out when he got arrested by that bitch. Hell, even when he was in court, and she testified to him committing an attempted rape on her in the park while out on patrol, the Warriors weren't there. At the end of the night, Ajax started wonder if anybody gave a fuck about him.

=======================================================

**ALRIGHT REVIEW PEOPLE.  
THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL MOST LIKELY BE THE END CHAPTER OF MY SHORT MINI SERIES OF WARRIORS JAILBREAK. THERE'S GOING TO BE A WHOLE LOT OF BLOOD. These last few chapters have been nothing but slow, preparation, and giving off the characters feelings, thoughts, and what their going through before they take their final step into a war where soldiers will be lost. Allies will form, and just a whole lot will happen. Stay tuned, and review please!**


	5. Muscle me!

**Coney Island, New York City**

**Time: 7:50 P.M.**

Tonight was either give it your all or nothing. Every man in attendance knew that, and was very aware of the risk they'll face for the order they'll be carrying out this fateful night.

The night felt so cooling, the wind blew caught every newspaper on the ground and scavenged it up along with other people's leftovers. It spun crazily, sending bottles nearby into the empty streets, knocking trashcans over, and sent dirt sweeping through the air. December was near, and the temperature has started to drop.

However, the weather didn't bother the men assembled in large numbers as they soldiered on the boardwalk, heading in the direction of Coney Island Amusement Park. You could hear the floorboards creek from the loud thumps of every man shoe. In their hands, they possessed Bats, Knives, 2/4 boards with nails in the head, and man-made weapons from different things they could find.

They were the Armies of the Night.

Swan led the mile-long march acting as Warlord. Snow was the Warchief as well as the "Music man". Cochise, Achilles and Brix as muscle. Swan made Cowboy the new scout, replacing the late Fox Much like Fox; Cowboy also has his ear on the streets and keen eye sight. He also portrayed the role of negotiator of the group. Ever since he was a pre-teen, Cowboy had the knack to talk himself out of the stickiest of situations.

Swan renewed Rembrandt's position as the gang's writer which was indefinitely. Rembrandt is believed to be best of the best when it came down to talent amongst the city's gangs and there was no doubt about that.

Men like Carmine, Rhino, Albert, Hawk, Roach, Cody, Lynx, Boa, and Scythe were appointed as enforcers. Over the past few months, they've shown to be able to hold their own, and were believed to have plenty of potential inside.

The Warrior's eyes patrolled their surroundings on the beach cautiously. If it was one thing that could put a dent in their plants, it was 5-0. They definitely didn't need that right now, since they didn't at least rescue Ajax out of prison. You have to admit-the Warriors didn't look inconspicuous. If someone would think that they were marching off for a war that would be the understatement of the day.

Soon, they'd arrived on the platform at Stillwell subway station and it didn't take long for the train to come. The Warriors stood completely soundless as the feeling of the platform beneath their feet started to vibrate. The train's engine came to a full stop and the automatic doors opened in five seconds.

People stood around, staring at the army and kept their distance away from them as it took about two-three cars to be filled with nothing but men clad in pleather red-and-orange vest. A few would-be passengers thought about calling the cops, but what on grounds did they have the right to do that move? It would be foolish of them, so it was completely erased from thought as the train doors closed and began to pull off.

From a distance, through the windows of a dirty, roach-infested apartment, a pair of tired, hurt eyes stared at the departure of the train. The woman crossed her arms, clutching tightly on the skin on her should as if a terrible breeze swept by her just now. Her black mascara fell down her cheeks from the continuous tears that dropped out of her eyes. A feeling of dread overcame her as she just waited there like the man that has stolen and ripped her heart from her chest left the place he had brought her too.

Another showed up at the window, a pair of skinny arms wrapped around her waist, whispering her name in her ear. The train was out of sight as the trick pulled Mercy back off to bed.

On the train, having cars completely to themselves, the Warriors relaxed and talked amongst themselves. It seemed that this day really have them pumping with excitement. The comeback of someone with a fearful reputation coming back in the game had the new bloods anxious to see who this Ajax man is. Not only just the first encounter with Ajax got them riled up, but the chance to bash _the man _that has their brother locked up. Their Warlord sat at the two-seater by himself in the corner of the car with balled fist, thinking; "Blood will answer for blood", he whispered to himself.

As the Warriors conversed amongst themselves, Swan was greeted with a shadow blocking his light. He looked up at the man who approached him, and would see a Rembrandt looking him in his eyes. Swan's expression appeared tight, his jaws clenched, but there was a calmness to his eyes that welcomed the young one's company.

"Hey, Swan." Rembrandt greeted.

Swan took his leg off the seat and sat with his back against the seat, hunched over with his arms resting on his legs. "Hey, 'sup?" Swan said coolly. From the look in his leader's face, he knew something was bothering Swan. What his other brothers were excited about, Swan was not. Swan noticed his comrade stare, and knew he was trying to read his mind from his facial expressions.

"Are you ready? I know this is something big for yo-"

Rembrandt started to say something before Swan could finish his sentence, "Look, Warlord," He said, addressing Swan by his given title, "I'm more than ready for this type of thing, man. It's big, yeah, but man, isn't it for us all? Our nam-"

"What about our name?" Now it was Swan's time to interrupt, "We're just... Warriors, Rembrandt, not warriors. A name is a name, a title is a title."

Rembrandt arched one eyebrow, giving a Swan a "what're-you-talking-about" type of look. "A name makes a title, and the holders act it out." Rembrandt pointed out. "We're the freakin' Warriors. Just because we don't hold swords and shields, don't mean we're any different from Leonidas."

Swan confusingly looked at Rembrandt. He was lost at his last sentence, not knowing who the name Leonidas belonged to. "Who?"

"Leonidas," Anxiously, Rembrandt reached into his duffle bag and took over his art book. He flipped through a few pages until he found what he was looking for. A colorful drawing of a man in Golden armor, Red cape, and Red Horsehair attached to his shiny helm. Swan had leaned over to glance at the drawing, staring at it with a little bit of interest.

"Nice artwork, man, you have talent. But we had been knew this, so..." Swan leaned his back against the seat, and his head rested a little upwards. His eyes shifted to Rembrandt, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He still didn't know who Leonidas was, and why Rembrandt showed him an old Greek soldier. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Geez, man. Didn't you learn this in school? It's right there in the History books. Ya know? Social Studies? Leonidas, King of Sparta?"

"I wouldn't know, kid. I stopped going to school back in middle school," Swan didn't want to touch his life topic, so he went on with whatever Rembrandt was trying to point out, "I don't know about a Sparta."

"Ahh, okay." Rembrandt sat back on the chair as well, looking up at the ceiling, thinking as to how he was going to explain the history. "Alright, well Leonidas was a Warlord of 300 men, and they battled in this place that was far, far, from NY in Thermopylae. These 300 guys went against thousands, upon millions of Persian guys, man. Whooped them bad, real bad, until a traitor sold them out and Leonidas got killed along with his guys." Rembrandt summarized. The look in Swan's face told him that was still lost, Rembrandt sighed deeply. "Point is, these 300 were warriors. Through thick and thin, knowing the odds were against them, these guys had balls to stand against a guy that led more men than this city could probably hold."

"That was deep," was all Swan could say in response to Rembrandt story. Even though he said in non-interested tone, that was opposite of how he felt. This Leonidas character did sound brave go against an army superior to his own. Against all odds, they still faced it. Finally, he understood what Rembrandt was getting at but he didn't see the realism in it for it to be possible for them. He has confidence that they were definitely bringing Ajax out of jail, but in the back of his mind, death put a hole in that one. "So, you really think everyone is ready for this?"

"No, do you think we're ready for this?" Rembrandt countered.

Swan didn't give a response right away. He went back to his silence, leaving Rembrandt feeling overwhelmed now. He really wished for some support from his leader, but there was none. But what could he expect? Sometimes he thought Swan would have multiple-personalities to him, one thing he's sure of himself, next thing he drifts off in thought, most likely going back on that thought. But he guessed that happens to everyone. He didn't complain, he just sighed sadly and got up from the seat, walking back to the map.

**Hillside Correctional Facility**

**Two hours or so later.**

The prison guards patrolled around the cellblock, looking for any unusual activity. They flashed their flashlights into the dark cells, checking if anybody was missing. A few of the prisoners groaned and complained about the bright light being flashed in their face, and said a couple of threats. The guard didn't care though. He found it funny. To add insult to injury, playfully, he walked down a single aisle and smacked the metal bars, disturbing the prisoners sleep.

"You guys are just worthless pieces of shit." The guard commented.

Randomly, a prisoner and his cellmate came into view. They both held out their arms out the bars, trying to grab the guard by his brown neck. Both of them were skinheads. "Hey, fuck you man! Want to say that to my face, you fucking pig?" A Turnbull AC said. He banged both of his fists against the metal bars wildly.

"Pipe down, you're disturbing everyone else." The guard said in a sarcastic tone before taking the AC at the right moment by striking the skinhead's forehead with the flashlight. It didn't send him back, but there was a little bit of blood running down his face. It only angered the AC more. The guard shook his head. He didn't need this man making a ruckus, so he took out his keys, and began to unlock the cell. The AC's cellmate tried the guard but was too slow—the guard already had taken out his club and began striking both AC's in their face, causing blood to run freely in their face.

The guard grunted, his lips forming a sick smile as he continued to beat the two prisoners until he rendered them unconscious, or near there. He swatted fake sweat from his face and left out the cell, locking it right back and continued to do what he was doing; walking down the prison cells, hit the steel bars with the butt of his flashlight.

As he continued to hit the bars, he flung his light in the prisoners cells to do what he was suppose to be doing in the first place—seeing if they were in there. When he reached the second to last one, he stopped where he was at. He didn't need the light to know that there was something wrong. His squinted his eyes, walking closer to the cell, and noticed that there was nobody in the bunk beds.

"What the fuck?" He asked himself. He flashed his flashlight at the beds to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him—they weren't. He moved the light to the other part of the cell and the sight of a man charging at him quickly was the last thing he saw. He was grabbed by his neck and brought to the cell's bars and the only thing he could do was choke on his own blood as a sharpened toothbrush plunged into his neck.

The killer didn't let the body drop, not until the keys were removed from his pocket. The man sorted through the keys until he thought he found the right one. He put it in the hole, and his thoughts told him right. His cell was now unlocked and the doors came opened. A man emerged from the cell with a dirty crooked-tooth smile.

The killer had a pot-belly that hung over his lower-half of his body. He stood about 5'6, nearly two-hundred pounds of pure weight. He has dirty blond hair that was unkempt, a beard that was in need of bad shaving. A foul stench came from his armpits that could kill anyone who came in contact. Two things that were distinctive about him was the two tattoos on his arms that showed a design of two rats holding daggers in their mouths, and D E A D on the top and S E W E R on the bottom of the tat's picture.

Another man, his cellmate came out the cell looking at the dead body with bubbly eyes. It wasn't that he was about to cry, but his eyes were the size of the frog. He was the opposite of the big man, he was nearly skinny. His skin sunk against his body, bones poking out from all over. One could assume that he was definitely a crack head.

"Monte, put this p-p-pig in the cell and c-c-c-clean up this b-b-lood," the big man ordered. Monte started to do as he was told and dragged the cop's body into their cell. "I'm going to get the rest of this trash out," He walked over to the last cell, and whistled loudly. "Wake up, fuckers. It's time to get this man."

Two men groaned, and got up from off their beds. They looked at who the voice belonged to because they were too sleepy and irritated to know off the back. If it was anyone else they would've started acting like wild dogs and jumped on the person who messed up their sleeping time.

Tirelessly, bags on their skin, and redness replacing the white on their eyes, they looked at the man and yawned. "Boxhead, what in the fuck is wrong with you?" One of them started to say, "Time to get who? That guy from the ass ends in the city?"

"Nester shut the hell up. Our contract is to kill the fucker, and from what I hear, they're moving him today or tomorrow to another jail. So, in order to get this fuckin' bread, we're going to do what the contract wants." Boxhead unlocked their cells, pulling the doors open and grabbed hold of Nester jumpsuit and yanked him up from where he stood.

"Chill out, man!" Nester started to whine.

Boxhead put him down on his feet, laughing heartily as he smacked Nester hard in the back of his bald head. "Just jonesin' ya. Ey, Puck, get the brushes." Puck, obviously was the other cellmate to Nester. Both he and Nester were standing at the same height, 6'1, but different appearance. Puck had cuts all over his face and was stocky. Nester is brown-skinned, nappy-headed, and was in absence of a left ear.

"Already got it here, partna'," Puck said in a heavy southern accent. He showed one of his hands with a handful of toothbrushes. He passed it off to each man, and to Monte who had just come to join the group.

"It's done, man. The body? Gone. No one would know. See, man. It's right there. Right under the white's and blue's." Monte said.

"G-good. Let's g-go." Boxhead and the other three made their way down the hall quietly, unaware that they weren't the only ones that was out of their cells.

After reading different maps in the hallways that had directions to a specific spot they needed to go to, the Dead Sewers walked down different hallways, passing by different cellblocks in their path, leaving behind a crimson mess of some of the security guards that got in their way.

On their way, they gathered up the rest of the man, walking in a ten man war party. Puck, Monte, and Nester were already one of them. The other six was Dirty Henry, Al, Old John, Steak, Grim, and Francis. The one that led them was a crazed Boxhead.

Boxhead was not the leader of the Dead Sewers; in fact they didn't have leadership in their gang, though they followed Boxhead because he was the craziest and strongest of them all. All of them had one motive that made them feel alive; murder. They belonged in the Asylum, because these men were in fact, psychopaths that knew nothing but the love for blood and the lust for money.

Ajax had the misfortune of being one of their victims. A hit was placed on his head, and the Sewers were the ones that took it for a nice price. Ajax was one tough mother, but going against a war party in a weak condition was suicide.

The Dead Sewers made their way down a couple of floors until they were on the level of the medical part of the prison. The doors that led to room that is filled with patients were only just a few steps away. Their prey could be literally right in their hands, and the money on the left. Boxhead and his gang made their way to the room but stopped when a doctor and a nurse bumped into them.

"Excuse me, gentlemen but what are you guys d-d-oing here?" The doctor asked in his startled voice. They didn't answer, the gang just laughed and began to draw their weapons. They attacked the doctor viciously with toothbrushes, and batons. His blood sprayed all over the floors, their clothes, and on the nurse's face. She screamed as high as she could as she ran back to the office to try and call for some help. But Nester, Old John, and Francis were on her heels, following her right in the office. She couldn't even pick up the phone before being pulled by her head and have her head smash against the glass window, blood leaking out of her head, but she wasn't dead.

"Stupid broad," Francis sniffed her hair that was drenched in the doctor's and her own blood. He licked the side of her cheek, and forced her to hunch over the computer desk. He lifted up her white outfit, and pulled her panties down her legs. He took off his jumpsuit, and stood there with a white tee and pissed-stained boxers. "Oh yeah, I'm going to enjoy this sweet wool," Francis drooled as he proceeded to rape the nurse anally. She cried weakly, trying to tell the man to stop, but he wouldn't. He raped her violently, and Old John joined him.

"Put the whore on the floor!" Old John laughed, showing nothing but yellow teeth.

"N-nasty, d-d-ogs. Haha!" Boxhead laughed sickly, looking at the action happening in the office. Now, it was time to do what he was going to do and kill Ajax. Subtracting Old John , Francis, and Nester from the equation, Boxhead went with the rest of the men and came inside the room with all the patients that were sleeping soundlessly. They looked all over the room until they found their man.

Ajax, under the machines and breathing support over his mouth, breathed in and out as he snored hard in his sleep. This was just too easy, and for the amount of money that was going to get for doing this? He wished opportunities like this would come more often.

The Rats moved towards their target with blood thirsty looks in their eyes. All of them were going to take turns stabbing this scum up. Nice, slow, and hard. As they almost came closer to their prey, the bed sheets of three patients were removed quickly and the "patients" jumped out of their beds.

Mohammed, Adam, and Xeem started attacking the rogue gang by surprise; assaulting them with a fury of kicks, and punches. Mohammed elbowed Al on the bridge of his nose, knocking him on his ass. Al clutched his nose, cursing the man out. Grim sent a punch to the back of Mohammed's head, but it was a weak one. Instantly, Mohammed turned around and sent a flying round-house kick to Grim's temple, flipping him on the ground.

Adam was grabbed by Steak from behind. Steak had his arms wrapped around Adam's neck, and applied pressure to it, trying to break it in two, but the young Riff elbowed him at his side, so Steak could loosen his hold on him. It worked, and Adam took the opportunity to knock him in his nose with the back of his head. "Mutha'fucka," Adam stood on one leg, leaned back like a rubber-band being pulled back, and sent a strong kick to Steak's face, knocking him back into another patient's bed.

Boxhead was still in shock, not knowing what was going on around him. But he did know that these niggers were out of control. That was none of his concern though, the money was on his mind, and he needed to rid Ajax of his life. He turned his back on the fight and began to jog towards Ajax body. As he was about to stab Ajax in the heart, the Warrior eyes opened quickly, and a blow was delivered to the Boxhead temple, dazing him a little bit.

Ajax took the oxygen mask off his face, and got up on his feet. He was still weak, but mustered up enough energy to fight for the least bit. It was a good thing the Riffs got to him before the Sewers did and told him of his would-be death by their hands. Ajax wanted to know who set him up for it, but the Riffs didn't have the answer. The Riffs offered a hand, and Ajax decided that he just might need their help. So they began to plan things out.

"So, what's up pussies! I'm going to break your fuckin' skulls in!" Ajax growled. He marched over to a dazed Boxhead, and swung at him from the left, following up with a upper-cut to the jaw. He knew Boxhead was the one that stabbed him, and he planned to take his revenge.

He continued to assault Boxhead in his face. Boxhead, tried to cut Ajax in his stomach again, but the only thing he managed to do was graze Ajax's skin through the hospital gown. He did a hard head butt, and sent a strong punch into Boxhead gut. Dirty Henry was about to run up on Ajax from behind with a baton, but Xeem dispatched him of his weapon, and smacked him with his backhand a couple of times before grabbing him by his collar and tossed him hard on the floor.

Ajax felt himself weakened from his blows. He had energy, but was running out on it fast. The wound still didn't heal up fully yet, and somehow he knew that was going to wear out. However, Ajax wasn't the one t o stop that easily. He was going to go beyond his limit, and attempt to fight as long as he could.

Boxhead, didn't miss that Ajax punches slowed down. Then it hit him—Ajax was still weak and that knife he plunged in him from before was still there. A smile came on his face, and Ajax closed it by a knuckle to his mouth, knocking out a few teeth. He was about to send another punch but it was a slow one, and took Ajax by surprise and punched him where he was hurt at.

"ARGH, SHIT!" Ajax huddled over, clutching his side. He winced in pain, and looked up at Boxhead. "That was a pussy, move. I'm going to break your face!" Ajax stated. Boxhead, wasn't intimidated by the empty threat and sent a kick to Ajax in the face, sending him flat on his back. Using his weight, Boxhead sat down on Ajax chest and began to pound the living shit out of him. Blood poured through his teeth as Boxhead mashed on Ajax face likeit was a punching bag.

Ajax blood ran down on his forehead, and went into his eyes, turning his entire eye into a crimson color. He tried to get the big man off, but with the pain of the knife wound, Boxhead weight, and the punches that kept connecting with his face, it made all his efforts useless. But he was determined not to get wasted by some dude that reeked of a horse's asshole.

Ajax groaned in pain, and in anger as the hits continued to come. The Riffs were still too busy to come to his aid to help him at the moment, but he didn't need their help. He could handle his own battles. So, he mustered up his strength to have his arms reach out to Boxhead face; he grabbed a hold of his fat face, and plugged his two index fingers into his eyes.

"Ahhh! My eyes, my fuckin' eyes." Boxhead forgot about Ajax and tended to his eyes. He covered them as blood gushed out through his fingers. Ajax coughed out blood, doubling over on his stomach. A pool of blood busted through his teeth, as he got up on his knees, using his arms to support his weight to get him back on his two's. He stumbled over a bit, but he was a trooper.

Ajax's face scrunched up, creases on his forehead formed, his blood-stained lips formed a victorious smile, knowing full well that the odds were in his hands now. He spotted the toothbrush that was two feet away from him—perfect. "You pussy! You're going to pay for trying to fuck with Ajax," Ajax declared in third person as he went over to the weapon and picked it up.

Then, he went over to a crying Boxhead and didn't hesitate to stab him to the death from the back of his head. "Die!" Ajax said repeatedly. He continued to stab the back of his head, poking holes out in his skull. Boxhead was already dead from the first two hits, but that didn't satisfy Ajax just yet. He wanted more, so he continued until he felt a pair of arms hold him back. "Get off of me, what the hell, man!" Ajax struggled to get out of the submission but Mohammed has much more strength than him at the moment.

"Calm down, brother. It's over, now. You beat him—you killed him. Don't go on with this man." Mohammed said, trying to soothe a raging Ajax. Mohammed face got smacked in by the back of Ajax's dome, having him release the bullheaded Warrior.

"Thanks for the help, Riff, but I could've handled my own. I can hold my own. You were just in my way!" Ajax claimed. "Now, get out of my way." He pushed past Xeem, Adam, and Mohammed. Adam thought about going after Ajax, but Mohammed placed a hand on his shoulders, shaking his head "no". Adam fell back, and watched as Ajax walked out of the medical room angrily.

"So, what now brother?" Xeem asked Mohammed when the Warrior was out of sight.

Arriving at their destined stop, the platform filled with soldiers donning Red-and-Orange pleather vest. It was too many of them, the people that were waiting couldn't get on the train until the Warriors left out of the station. Now, there were just one step away from their goal. . .

_**Sidenote**_; I know this was going to be the final chapter, but I decided not to make this one too long. So here it is. I assure you the next will be the last. Review.


End file.
